


Your Presents Are Requested

by wanderingeyre



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But not pine, Christmas, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gift Giving, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Holidays, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28091574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingeyre/pseuds/wanderingeyre
Summary: Christmas is in a week and Draco is wrapping the cashmere shawl and brooch he bought for his mother when there is a tapping at his window from an owl. He finishes the crease he’s making in the silver paper and goes to the window. A large horned owl that he recognizes comes through his window carrying a large package.Why is Potter sending him a package so early on a Sunday?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 14
Kudos: 51





	Your Presents Are Requested

**Author's Note:**

  * For [p1013](https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/gifts).



> for p1013 - Merry Christmas to my lovely friend. This is unequivocally all your fault. I’d blame you if I wasn’t having so damn much fun.

Title: Your Presents Are Requested

Christmas is in a week and Draco is wrapping the cashmere shawl and brooch he bought for his mother when there is a tapping at his window from an owl. He finishes the crease he’s making in the silver paper and goes to the window. A large horned owl that he recognizes comes through his window carrying an oversized package.

_ Why is Potter sending him a package so early on a Sunday? _

Worried it might be work related, Draco takes the package, gives the owl a treat, and shoos it out the window. Potter and Draco have been Aurors for three years now. Potter’s show of support helped Draco secure the position even if some people resented his presence. They aren’t partners, but Draco is the department expert on potions and Potter is the Dark Magic expert so they end up working together often. Draco’s desk is on the other side of the floor from Potter’s, near the potions lab, but Potter spends time in Draco’s space, talking over cases, drinking tea, and making Draco wish for things he will never have and shouldn’t even be entertaining.

The package gives under the pressure of his fingers, and is covered in brown paper and string. Draco unties the string to reveal a gift wrapped in midnight blue paper with snowflakes falling into snow drifts. Draco places the gift on his kitchen table and stares at it. He does not look at the wrapped package under his own tree with Potter’s name on it. He made the gift weeks ago and still doesn’t know if he’ll actually send it.

Draco goes back to wrapping his mother’s present, precise folds in silver, with a green and red bow for the top. He makes a new pot of tea and stares at the snowflakes dancing in an imaginary wind over the blue paper while he waits. He pours a splash of milk into his tea and takes a sip before placing his cup down on the table next to the package.

Draco pulls the end of the package open, then the other, and when he releases the last bit of tape, the blue paper opens to expose a pair of black joggers, the kind meant to sleep in. Draco runs his long fingers over the material. It’s impossibly soft and will feel like heaven against his skin. He’s not sure how Potter knows that Draco loves nothing more than extravagantly soft pajamas, but when he puts them on they fit perfectly. 

He spends the rest of the day in them, drinking tea and trying to ignore the cozy feeling in his chest.

\---

Harry is on time to work but the Auror floor is quiet with the holidays so close. Ron is gone with Hermione to visit her parents until Christmas at the Burrow, so Harry is without his partner for a few days. They’ve closed all their recent cases and Ron has left Harry with the paperwork. Harry doesn’t mind the tedium of reports—something his younger self would have never believed—but it gives him a chance to recall the small details and events that led to the culmination of a case. More than once, his notes have helped out in other open investigations.

The light is on in Malfoy’s office—Harry can see it when he steps onto the Auror floor—and Harry desperately wants to go talk to the other man, to see what he thought of the gift he sent. Harry was anxious after sending it, angry at himself for not sending a note. After his owl was out of sight, and Harry was alone, all he could think about was that soft material sliding over Malfoy’s creamy skin. He’d spent most of the day in agony, wanting to know what the joggers felt like over Mafoy’s skin and anxious to know if they’d been received well. 

Harry keeps walking to his own desk, ignoring the pull in his sternum that is trying to drag him in Malfoy’s direction.

In the very center of his desk is a square box wrapped in silver. The folds are razor sharp and the bow on top is red and gold. Harry stares at it for a breath before ripping into the heavy paper. Inside the plain white box is a tea cup and saucer, crimson red with a yellow Gryffindor on the side. There’s a small piece of paper inside the cup, writing in a precise, neat hand that Harry would know anywhere.

**Tap the rim and say** **_celia_ ** **. -D**

Harry does and the cup fills with warm, fragrant tea. He picks up the cup and takes a sip. He shouldn’t be surprised that the tea that flows over his tongue is his favorite blend. Malfoy’s attention to detail manifests in the way he cares for the people he considers in his circle, to be his. It’s absolutely the kind of gift Malfoy would give, thoughtful and personal.

But it’s a friendly gift and Harry is trying to make overtures about something that is a step beyond friends, an entire leap beyond friends.

Harry sits in his chair, sips the tea, and angles himself so he can see the door to Malfoy’s office. By the time the cup is empty, Harry has a plan he doesn’t think can fail.

\---

Draco is relieved when it’s time to go home. He saw Potter come in, but when he could contain his curiosity no longer and went to see what Potter thought of the teacup, Potter’s office had been empty. The silver paper was crumpled in the trash—Harry and the teacup nowhere to be found. Draco told himself that Harry must have gone out to work on a case, and he swallowed the bitter lump of disappointment choking him. It had taken quite a bit of precise magic to get the cup to consistently fill with the particular kind of tea that Harry preferred and then to stay at the perfect drinking temperature. 

Draco’s flat is in a nice part of town with an open floor plan, done in creams and greys. It manages to be warm instead of cold and Draco loves it. When he opens his front door, Harry’s owl is at his window again, and the trepidation its appearance causes sucks the air out of the room. Draco almost stumbles the rest of the way into his flat in his rush to get to the window.

This time, the owl is carrying a small box wrapped in pretty red and green paper with a note.

**I hope you find this useful. -H**

Draco pulls open the ends of the wrapping, then releases the tape holding the paper and examines the box. It’s a plain brown box with a circular tin nestled inside. In flourishing letters are the words  _ Wonderous Wand Polish - Make your wand shine! _

Draco barks out a laugh but chokes it back as he considers the possible implications. Potter could just be giving this to him for a laugh or he could be making an innuendo. Draco desperately, hopelessly wishes it’s the latter, but he knows it’s the former. If there is one thing of which Draco is painfully aware, it is that his feelings for Potter are deeply one sided. 

Draco has earned, through exhausting work and his own blood and tears, the grudging respect of the other Aurors. From the beginning, Potter made it clear that Draco should be given a chance to prove himself and Draco endeavored to be worthy of the weight that Harry’s support added to his reputation. His father, may he continue to rot in Azkaban, would be appalled at the degree to which Draco cared about what the famous Harry Potter thought of him.

The small tin mocks him from the box, teases his desire for something he shouldn’t entertain, taunts the empty spot in his life that Draco only wants filled with one person, and exposes his inability to overcome this emotion that has somehow grown to overtake him. Potter has a kind heart. Draco knows he would never have given this to him for a laugh if he knew the suggestion of this joke would be a knife to his lungs, making it impossible to draw a breath without pain piercing his chest. 

He has another gift to send to Potter so he wraps it up and sends it on it’s way.

Draco makes a pot of tea and watches the tin as if it will burst into flames. In the end, he puts it on the mantle above the fireplace where it mocks him for the rest of the day.

\---

The gift Draco sent is sitting on the end of the long wooden table, the end closest to the stove so Harry can stare at it while he makes tea that evening. He rummages in the cabinets until he finds a tin of biscuits, which he tosses onto the table. It clinks into the gift and Harry flops down on the bench, mindful of his tea, but his irritation is making him sloppy. The tea sloshes over the side of his cup and Harry curses.

Bloody Malfoy.

There is no way to misinterpret the gift he sent Malfoy. It was both suggestive and funny. It was definitely a gift that said, I think you have a fun sense of humor and also I lay awake thinking of you naked with my hands on your prick. What Malfoy sent him in return was not a suggestive gift.

At all.

Another meticulously wrapped silver package had arrived by owl around suppertime. Inside the package was a candle.

A citrus and mint scented candle.

Harry is now at a crossroads. He could let this go, laugh off the wand polish as a joke, and go back to how things have been, the way they’ve settled over the past couple years. Taking this path meant he kept Malfoy in his life, but that he’d still have the pain of want and need slowly choking him to death. Harry is terrified he’ll wake up one morning composed entirely of bitter desire. His other option is just as frightening.

He’s already dug a hole that is quite deep. A few more shovelfuls of dirt couldn’t do any more damage. Harry could go all in, send a note that could in no way be misinterpreted and either ruin a precious friendship or finally know what Malfoy feels like under his hands.

Harry lets out a shuddering breath and gets a piece of parchment from his desk.

\---

Potter’s owl comes to his window in the morning, carrying a bag with a snowman on it that weighs almost nothing and a note. Draco opens the note and his mouth goes dry as his eyes take in the words.

**Put this on and come to Grimmauld Place. I don’t want your gifts, you prat. I only want you, if you’ll have me. -H**

Draco opens the bag. Inside is a shiny red and green bow.

Draco laughs, relief and joy bouncing over the walls of his flat. He knows exactly how he wants to reply to this gift, but he needs to make a stop first.

\---

By lunchtime, Harry convinces himself that he’s made the worst mistake of his life. Not only did he declare to Draco Malfoy, of all people, that he wants him naked so he can shag him silly, he’s also probably ruined the best friendship he has outside of Ron and Hermione because he can’t keep naked Draco out of his head. He should never have sent the bow. He should have just gone and talked to the man like a normal person. He should have grabbed him and kissed him. 

He should have kept his bloody feelings and desires to himself.

There’s a knock at the door and Harry has to breathe past the fear that grips him, tiny pricks of claws rendering him immobile. The knock comes again. Harry gathers himself and yanks open the door.

Malfoy is standing on his doorstep. He looks like perfection wrapped in a black cloak, perfectly fitted, snow gathering on his shoulders and dusting through his platinum hair. Harry’s bow is nowhere to be seen and Harry’s heart and his hopes slink down to the rug at his feet. Instead, Malfoy holds a brown paper wrapped parcel in his black gloved hands.

“Malfoy.” The name comes out of his mouth like a croak, so Harry clears his throat and tries again. “Malfoy, what are you doing here?”

Malfoy looks at Harry like he’s turned into a bowtruckle. “Let me get off your doorstep and out of the snow at least.”

Harry mutely stands out of the way and motions Malfoy in. The other man steps close enough that Harry can smell him, like granite in the rain and a touch of cologne that Harry is convinced Malfoy brews himself.

“Why are you here?” The question is softer this time because Harry can’t keep the hope from slipping through the boards at his feet.

Malfoy brushes off the snow with one hand, gripping the box with the other. He looks up at Harry, surprised. “You asked me to come here.” Malfoy steps closer to Harry. His cloak brushes Harry’s thighs and Harry knows it’s impossible but he can feel the heat of Malfoy through the layers of fabric. “Has something happened to you? You did send me a very provocative note and gift earlier this morning, did you not?”

Harry can feel his cheeks heating in a blush so fierce he knows even his brown skin won’t cover it up. “If by provocative, you mean I sent you a bow and asked to show up at my house naked, uh, yes, I did do that.” Harry runs his fingers through his hair. “Look Malfoy, I’m sorry I did that.”

Malfoy’s shoulders slump just the slightest bit before his back goes ramrod straight. “Oh, I should probably leave then.”

Harry reaches out and grabs at Malfoy. He doesn’t move fast enough and gets a handful of Malfoy’s cloak instead, pulling it so that Harry can see underneath the cloak. 

Malfoy is naked.

Well, not completely. He’s spelled the bow Harry sent so that it’s unraveled enough to tie around Malfoy’s waist, the shine of the bow flashing as the cloak opens. “Merlin, Draco.”

Harry’s hand is a vice on the edge of Draco’s cloak as he pulls it back to expose Draco, angled lines and firm muscles that make Harry’s palms itch with the need to touch.

Draco poses. “Is this not what you requested?”

Harry nods. “It is.”

Draco’s smile is predatory and Harry can feel his prick harden. “Good then, I have something for you.” Draco holds the box out to him.

Harry has to release Draco’s cloak to take the box. It’s heavier than he expects and he tears into the paper, fingers trembling and quick. He sets the box down and opens the lid. Nesting in black silk is a silver vibrator and a small piece of parchment. Harry looks up so swiftly his neck cracks.

“Draco?”

“Salazar, Harry, read the note.” His face is annoyed, but Draco is breathless as he says the words.

Harry picks up the note, unfolds it and reads, “I enjoy getting the last word in. -D”

Harry puts the box with its possibility and suggestion on the side table and cups Draco’s face, running a finger over the other man’s cheekbones. “I would like to kiss you.”

“Yes, please.” 

Harry brushes his lips over Draco’s, absorbing the feel of him, and Draco’s hand threads through Harry’s hair and brings him closer. That’s all it takes for the dam to burst and Harry presses in, hungry and ravenous, running his tongue along the seam of Draco’s mouth. Draco opens to him with a sigh that Harry swallows down like it’s the last bit of air he’ll ever ever need.

Harry runs his hands over Draco’s bare chest, reveling in the taut muscles beneath his fingertips as Harry palms the very skin that’s kept him awake at night. His fantasies have not even skimmed the surface of what Draco feels like beneath his hands. 

Draco pushes Harry away from him, breaking their lips apart. “Take off your jumper.”

Harry fingers the hem of his jumper and uses the opportunity to look at Malfoy, naked and radiant, his lips red and swollen, pressed against his front door. Malfoy’s prick is hard, the tip glistening as it twitches under Harry’s scrutiny. Harry’s jeans are uncomfortably tight as he pulls his jumper off then the shirt he has underneath, leaving him bare chested. Draco reaches out to him and Harry goes, willingly, eagerly.

Draco trails his fingers over Harry’s chest, through the curled hair that leads lower, sliding his fingers into the waistband of Harry’s jeans. Draco leans forward and Harry thinks he’s going to kiss him again, but Draco ducks his head and runs his tongue over Harry’s nipple, first one then the other, his fingers digging into Harry’s hips as they jerk forward.

Harry reclaims Draco’s mouth, pressing the other man further into the door. Draco’s fingers deftly unbutton Harry’s jeans, pushing them and his pants down his thighs, freeing Harry’s aching prick. Malfoy wraps his clever fingers around Harry’s length, and Harry has to lean harder into Malfoy to keep his feet. Malfoy sucks down every moan Harry gives him. 

Malfoy leans back far enough to whisper in a wrecked voice, “ _ Lubrico _ .”

He takes both of them in hand, sliding them together, heat and need in motion. Harry adds his hand to Draco’s, using his free hand to continue running over Draco’s skin. Harry thrusts into Draco and Draco’s hand is on Harry’s arse, urging him forward. Their bodies find a sweet rhythm, flesh pressing and gliding together, until they are both shaking.

Draco lets out a shuddering breath. “Fuck, Harry, I wanted to get you in a bed at least.”

Harry laughs and increases the pace just a fraction so he can watch Draco’s pupils expand and the color rise higher in his cheeks. “Next time. I’m not letting go of you until I feel you come and break apart, right here.”

The words are permission and an admittance that Harry is just as lost as Draco. It takes only moments until Harry can feel it tingling in his spine and everything in him stutters and contracts before spilling over and painting Draco’s abs. Draco swallows the noises Harry makes and Harry feels warmth on his own belly as Draco is pushed over the edge.

Harry rests his forehead against Draco’s, chests heaving as they catch their breath, hands still wrapped around each other. Draco presses a light kiss on Harry’s lips and Harry deepens the kiss. 

“Happy Christmas, Draco.”

Harry can feel Draco’s smile against his own. “It is much happier than I imagined it being.”

“Would you like to come upstairs with me? Maybe try something else, but in a bed this time?” Harry punctuates his question with kisses down Draco’s neck.

“Yes.”

“Should I bring your gift?” Harry asks, eyeing the box on the table.

Draco shakes his head. “Not this time.”

Harry pulls up his jeans, but doesn’t bother to button them and picks up his shirt from the ground. He uses it to wipe Draco’s belly, then his own. He offers Draco a hand and his heart soars when Draco slides his palm against Harry’s and follows him upstairs.

Later that night, Draco and Harry lay on their sides facing each other, sharing air, eyes wide and bodies satisfied in a way they never have been.

Draco smiles at Harry in a fond, gentle way. “The wand polish was a nice touch.”

Harry snorted. “I had to do something. I was trying to seduce you with those joggers and you sent me a tea cup.”

Draco props his head up on his palm, elbow digging into the pillow. “You’re always forgetting to make tea, or oversteeping it, or neglecting to drink it while it’s hot. Do you know how long it took me to get the cup to make exactly the right tea blend at the right temperature?” Draco narrows his eyes at Harry. “How was I supposed to be seduced by joggers?”

“Well, they are very soft and, if you must know, all I could think about was taking them off you.” Harry can feel his face heating.

Draco chuckles. “In that case, I’ll wear them next time.”

Harry grins. “If you knew the wand polish was a come on, why did you send me a candle?”

“A citrus and mint candle,” Draco counters. At Harry’s blank expression, Draco continues, “You use citrus and mint soap in the common showers at work. That candle reminded me of you and I wanted you to know I pay attention to you, not the you that everyone else sees, but the small things that make you just Harry.”

A liquid warmth flows over Harry. “I gave you lewd gifts and you gave me thoughtful gifts. Well, maybe the vibrator was a bit much.”

Draco leans over, “It won’t be too much if we start it out on low.”

“Merlin, Draco, your mouth is going to kill me.”

“That’s the idea.” Draco kisses Harry on the corner of his mouth.

They both laugh and it feels like a sound that was always meant to be, harmonizing together. They fall asleep, tangled and warm while it snows outside. 

  
  



End file.
